


If the wind breathes

by unsungyellowraincoat



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bees, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Summer, referenced original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsungyellowraincoat/pseuds/unsungyellowraincoat
Summary: Death of a former classmate brings Even back to his hometown where he meets a young beekeeper named Isak.





	1. Bond

**Author's Note:**

> hello it's me! here is a new fic that i wrote. if you've read my previous fic let go when you give it, you'll know how these things go. some bants, some sadness, gratuitous mentions of the weather. i like keeping things short. something happened in the characters' past, but i will be gentle. no dogs this time. but there will be bees.
> 
> i'm a finnish person in a japanese-speaking marriage writing about norwegians in english, so there may be mistakes.
> 
> the title is from a finnish language poem by väinö kirstinä.
> 
> i'm [@isaksbestpillow](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. link for the reblog is [here](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/post/174178340338/if-the-wind-breathes-unsungyellowraincoat-skam).

Even hastily fixes his hair in the rear-view mirror in the seconds it takes the taxi driver to print out the receipt.

 _Shit_. There is a stain on the lapel of his suit the size of a mosquito, reddish, maybe ketchup—How long has it been there? Did he have ketchup today? He can’t remember, can’t remember much these days. _Why would you wear your suit for the trip there? What were you thinking? I knew this would happen. Look at yourself, you’re almost thirty, you need to buy yourself a proper suit bag._ Sonja’s voice nags at the back of his head, her beautiful, sensible voice of reason that Even still sometimes misses when it's past midnight and he’s wide awake in his new apartment that still doesn’t feel like home, with no one around to tell him to put the laptop down, to stop forcing out ideas and come to bed. He licks the tip of his index finger and rubs it over the stain. That’ll do, he thinks as he snatches the receipt with a _thank you and have a nice day_ before he stumbles out of the taxi.

It’s the first time he’s out of Oslo in who knows how long, even longer since the last time he was here. The high midday sky is like a blank canvas simply waiting for a cloud or a skylark or an airplane to draw on it. Even shades his eyes with his hand and snorts at the irony of the comparison. Not a canvas then—a still object, stagnant water.

This must be the place. A yellow wooden house in the middle of nowhere. The lawn surrounding it grows thick and wild, yet the flowerbeds appear well-tended. Marigolds, globeflowers, and daisies greet him in unison as he walks toward the porch.

He takes the stairs in a stride, then looks around for a doorbell. What time is it, anyway? He looks at his wrist only to notice he’s not wearing a watch. Where did he put his phone? Dropping his bag, he starts fumbling in his pockets.

It’s what Sonja would have described as _a slightly unconventional arrangement_. There had been offers for a guest room or a sofa from names whose voices he can no longer recall. He could also have stayed at the only hotel in town like the few others who had no family left here.  Yet he would rather stay alone, somewhere where he can process without people looking at him with expectant eyes. They are not friends anymore, not really acquaintances either, merely characters from memories blurred into a supercut that people call the past. Even refuses the weight of the past. No looking back.

“Can I help you?”

Even turns around. There’s a man standing at the bottom of the stairs, probably around his age, with curly hair and hands dirtied with soil. He must be the host— _Isak_ , Even recalls the name—, unless there’s been a misunderstanding and the taxi driver has brought him to a very wrong place. Better act like he knows what he’s doing, Even thinks, straightening his posture.

“Are you Even?” the man—definitely Isak then—asks, wiping his hands on his trousers as he makes his way up to the door. “I would shake your hand if mine weren’t so dirty. Sorry, wasn’t expecting you yet.”

Even gives his best apologetic smile. “Would you believe me if I told you that Kimi Räikkönen gave me a fast ride?”

“Save that story for the local newspaper, they’ll report on it for the next two years,” Isak replies dryly.

Even laughs. He likes the guy, likes how the skepticism in his voice is cancelled out by the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Might be good publicity for your Airbnb,” he says as he follows Isak inside.

Isak looks over his shoulder. “At least wait until I’ve shown you your room before making that decision.”

*

Even tosses his bag on to the floor. The wood creaks.

It takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room, the bright yellow noon still flickering behind his eyelids

“It’s not exactly the Buckingham Palace—”

Even runs a hand over the headboard of the bed, only half listening. He peers down to the space between the bed and the wall, finding a dead butterfly stuck there. Gently he picks it up onto his palm and blows on it before laying it onto the bedside table.

“—But you’re free to use the kitchen and the bathroom as you please. It’s just me here now.”

“It’s fine,” Even hurries to assure. “I like it.”

Isak gives him a smile. “Waiting for your rave review. Five out of five dead butterflies.”

“One out of five, for now,” Even grins back, then glances around.  He needs to get out of this fucking suit.

“Do you have hangers here? I need to get out of this fucking suit.”

“There should be hangers in the closet. Or I can get you some of mine if I’m wrong.”

Even swings the closet door open and picks a wooden hanger off the bar. “Found it,” he says, already starting to undo the buttons on his white shirt.

Isak coughs. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

The door closes softly, and then Even is alone again.

He undresses in a haste, puts his suit away and throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from his bag, then leans his forehead against the warm window looking out into the garden. The ticking of the pendulum clock in the hallway echoes in the room, but the dust on the windowsill is quiet. A wind sweeps through the garden, swaying the branches of an old birch taller than the house. There are birds there, unseen but singing as they swing.

As Even pulls away, his breath on the window leaves a condensation. He uses the hem of his t-shirt to wipe it, then flumps down onto the bed. He crosses his arms behind his head and let’s out a sigh. The sigh becomes a yawn, and then he is gone.

 

*

A knock on the door wakes him up.

“Can I come in?” Isak’s voice asks.

Even springs up, ruffling his hair. Shit. How long was he gone for? He peers outside for a clue, but this time of the year it’s hard to tell if it’s night or day from the position of the sun.

“I’m fully clothed and not masturbating,” he manages to say just as the door opens with a creak.

Isak steps in, letting out a chuckle. “That makes two of us,” he says. He has laughter lines, Even notices.

“Must’ve fallen asleep,” Even says, scratching the back of his head.

“For a moment I thought you’d escaped through the window.”

“Is that the aura I give off?”

“Well, you _were_ wearing a suit. Thought maybe you were James Bond on a secret mission. Don’t get a lot of guests wearing suits here, is all.”

“You’re making my life sound very exciting,” Even says amusedly as Isak raises his eyebrows in question. “Want to hear a story? Had to bring a suit. Couldn’t find my suitcase. Do I even own a suitcase? I don’t know, maybe it was Sonja’s—ex-girlfriend—, a lot of our stuff was her stuff, as it turns out. Have to bring a suit, don’t have a suitcase. What do I do? Wear the fucking suit. At least that way it won’t crease.”

Isak is laughing out loud now, a full belly laugh. Even likes the sound of it, he notices.

“That sounds like a very James Bond thing to do.”

“I left out the part where I dismantled a bomb on the train while chasing a Russian spy.”

“While making love to a beautiful woman," Isak concludes.

“Or a man,” Even says then.

It’s a gamble. Even holds his breath for what feels like an eternity but is probably just a nanosecond as all the possible outcomes flash before his eyes, from being ignored to being punched to being asked to leave. He doesn’t know why he said it, it was a spontaneous risk to take, maybe because he’s still disoriented from the nap, maybe because he’s oddly buzzed, like a swarm of bees in a human body; maybe because Isak’s smile is—

 _Widening_.

“I’ve been waiting for him to do that since I was 14,” Isak says, and Even relaxes completely.

The silence that follows is not awkward.

“What time is it?” Even finally asks. He must have been asleep for hours.

“It’s past four now. I figured you might be hungry.”

“Came to tell me the route to the nearest McDonald’s?” Even teases.

“There’s no McDonald’s in this town.”

“Oh,” Even frowns. “I thought maybe there’d be one by now.”

“I take it it’s not your first time here, then?”

Even bites his lip. “I grew up here. It’s—it’s a long story.”

“A long story,” Isak repeats softly, almost as though to himself. “Are you hungry? I made spaghetti.”

“My name is Bond. Starving Bond.”

 

*

They eat in silence.

Even finds himself stealing glances at Isak, observing the way his mouth moves as he chews on his food.

“You have tomato sauce on your chin.”

“Where?” Isak asks, his face reddering.

“Here,” Even says, touching the left side of his own chin just below his bottom lip.

“Here?” Isak leans closer, looking confused.

Even shakes his head and wets his thumb, then uses it to wipe the stain from Isak’s face. “ _Here_.”

“Thanks,” Isak mumbles and starts to clean the table.

“James Bond,” Even winks.

When Isak turns toward the sink, Even sucks on the tip of his thumb, tasting the spaghetti, tasting—

Fucking hell.

*

After dinner Isak returns to gardening, while Even takes out his laptop and finds a warm yet shady spot on the porch to work on his ideas.

The ideas won’t come, only a strange buzzing noise from somewhere nearby.

The air smells of lilacs and mosquito coil.

Even bites his nails.

It’s still daylight, but the call of a cuckoo in the distant horizon signals the arrival of evening. Even remembers its song from fifteen summers ago, when he was young and exciting and brimming with dreams and ideas. He had wanted to become a movie director, to have his big break; or maybe he’d stick to arthouse, tell his stories exactly how he wanted to, never compromising on his vision, for the people ready to listen.

He’d never wanted to become a 29-year-old has-been with no ideas and no lover, stuck in a dreamless ad agency selling shitty products with shitty tag lines.

A big, sturdy cat bumps its head against Even’s leg, then curls up on the keys of his laptop, purring. A key smash appears on the empty Word document.

“Who are _you_?” Even asks the cat and hears Isak laugh.

“I see you’ve met King Magnus II,” Isak says, taking a seat next to Even on the stairs.

“That’s quite a pompous name.”

Isak laughs again.

“A pompous name for a pompous cat,” he nods and sniffles, then wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Dirt from the garden sticks to his cheek, and Even resists the urge to touch it, instead pulling a tissue from his pocket and handing it to Isak, who accepts it with a silent thank you and continues, “A friend of mine named him, Magnus. He found him in an abandoned building in Oslo while we were smoking weed there in high school. He’s been around ever since. He’s quite picky when it comes to people, but seems to have taken a liking to you.”

“Like father, like son?”

Isak raises an eyebrow. “You be the judge.”

Even doesn’t know what he’s doing, making weird passes like that on his Airbnb host who is just trying to make him feel welcome in his house, as his guest, so he quickly changes the subject.

“You’re from Oslo, too?”

“Yeah. I moved here a couple of years ago. I work at the pharmacy downtown.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever heard of someone moving from Oslo all the way here.”

Isak laughs. “My mom was born here. This is her old house. It’s—It’s a long story.”

“It’s a big house,” Even says, looking around. “Doesn’t it ever—” _get lonely_ , he wants to ask, but stops mid-sentence, not wanting to obtrude.

“Get lonely?” Isak fills in the silence. His eyes focus on something in the horizon as though in reverie and his mouth twitches, slowly curving into a smile. “I don’t know. It’s big enough for the 50,000 of us, this house.”

“50,000?”

“The bees,” Isak replies simply, as though that would explain everything.

“The bees?” Even repeats.

Isak purses his lips and gives him an accusatory look. “You didn’t read my profile on the webpage, did you?”

Even spreads his hands. “It was a spontaneous thing,” he defends himself, his voice going higher.

“If you'd read my profile, you’d know that I keep bees in the backyard,” Isak explains, then narrows his eyes. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

Even shrugs. “Not that I know of.”

“Good. I’m checking up on the hives tomorrow, if you’d like to take a look. Or do you have plans for tomorrow?”

Even blinks, then shakes his head. “There’s somewhere I have to be in the morning.”

“Oh,” Isak says. “Maybe I can take you there? I mean if you want me to. I don’t mean to pry on your secret mission.”

“It’s a funeral.”

“Oh.” Isak looks away. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Even lets out a breath. “It’s a former classmate. Barely remember the guy. The parents wanted everyone to be there, that’s the only reason I’m going.”

Isak face turns serious then, older somehow, and he turns to look Even in the eye.

“I’ll take you there.”

They sit in silence after that, listening to the buzzing of the bees, with their legs spread wide but their feet jiggling and moving further apart every time they’re about to brush against each other.

Even looks up, craning his neck. Night clouds have started to gather.

“Have you ever lost someone suddenly?" he asks.

Isak rubs the ears of the cat, humming. “I guess. In a way.” Then he looks up and says, “Have you?”

Even licks his lips. They taste of salt and the night.

“I guess. In a way.”

The cat purrs.

 


	2. Beat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! thank you for the lovely response to this new verse! <3 i don't know how to tag, but i like funny stories with sad undertones, so that's the genre i'm dabbling with again. 
> 
> i've decided to post this fic in shorter bits in order to maintain some regularity in my schedule, so i've removed the expected number of chapters for now, but i think there's going to be 5-7 chapters in total. i like writing banter a lot, so if you'd like for me to add some extra bants that don't advance the plot, let me know!
> 
> i'm in a constant state of inferiority complex because my english is so elementary and i don't know enough words, but they always say to do your best, so here is chapter two, i did my best!

Even wakes up to the feeling of someone sitting on the end of the bed.

He peers his eyes open, tatters of a dream clinging onto his lashes. With a groggy head he sits up and rubs his eyes, and Sonja’s skirt billows in the wind one last time. Then the morning ripples, and she dissolves like honey in warm water.

King Magnus II cocks his head.

“How did you get in?” Even asks the cat, eyeing the room with idle curiosity.

Everything appears the way it was last night when he’d drifted off after exchanging whispered good nights with Isak in the hallway. He’d closed the door behind him because leaving it open had felt improper. The window is shut to muffle the birds as they stir to sing out the early summer light, and while there are cracks of darkness between the floor planks, they’re hardly big enough for a well-fed cat to crawl through.

King Magnus II cocks his head again, as if daring Even to see anything unusual in the situation, then curls up and begins to lick his paws. His shadow stretches on the wall, hovering over the butterfly that still lies quiescent on the table.

Even shrugs. Cats know their way in the night, he tells himself and swings his bare feet to the floor, feeling the clefts against his toes, or is it his toes against the clefts, then reaches for his bag to grab his meds.

His alarm hasn’t gone off yet, but the room is brimming with light and bird song.

Might as well ride it.

Scratching his butt, Even heads out the door in his underwear.

The cat meows once but doesn’t follow.

*

When Even enters the kitchen after brushings his teeth, he finds Isak already there, dressed in pajama bottoms and an unbuttoned worn-out flannel that exposes a sliver of his bare chest and stomach as he leans against the counter, sometimes stirring the pot on the stove with a wooden spoon.

As Isak looks up from the pot and breaks into a smile, an untamed curl falls onto his forehead. “Morning,” he says.

Yeah. His Airbnb host is hot. In twilight and at half past seven in the morning. It’s a slight inconvenience, but nothing Even isn’t used to handling.

 _Checking out guys on the morning of a funeral is so like you, unbelievable_ , there’s that a voice at the back of his head, but it doesn’t sound like Sonja, or even his mother. Maybe it’s his own voice. He tells it to shut it and let him have this moment of artificial normalcy.

“Morning,” Even yawns.

“Slept well?” Isak’s voice is kind, as though the question is somehow important to him.

“Like a log.”

“Glasses are in that cupboard,” Isak nods to his right as Even places his meds on the table. He doesn’t crack a joke about vitamins or try to make conversation. In fact, he doesn’t as much as glance at Even from the corner of his eye, and Even is grateful for it. He’s known a few nosy people in his life, and Isak doesn’t strike to him as one of them.

He likes how much room Isak leaves for quiet to settle in.

Even fills a glass with tap water and swallows his pills with loud gulps, instinctively closing his eyes as he does so, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He places his glass under the tap for a refill, only then noticing Isak staring at him.

Even follows Isak’s mouth as it moves in the form of a question, and his brain begins to furiously debate whether to go with _the I’m bipolar_ or the _I have a killer headache_ storyline.

It’s not the first time, and while suggesting that it never gets easier would be a lie, because it does, it does get easier, as most things tend to do the older you get, he’s discovered; it does get easier, but it never becomes easy, or agreeable, merely bearable, not unlike disinfecting a wound that won’t heal, or so he imagines.

The question catches him by surprise, and for a moment he can only blink.

“Want porridge?” Isak repeats, tapping the pot with the spoon.

“P-porridge?”

Isak folds his arms, not letting go of the wooden spoon. “I know you didn’t read my profile, but if you had, you’d know the only breakfast served here is coffee and porridge.”

Even gives him an apologetic grin. “I didn’t mean to insult your menu. Just been a while since I was last asked what I want for breakfast.”

Even has had a weakness for extravagant love stories with tears and violins for as long as he can remember, but now that he is alone, it’s not the big words he finds himself missing, or the sex, maybe not even Sonja as a person.

Rather, it’s the small gestures, the shared mundane moments and spaces; the have-you-eatens and the should-we-vacuum-todays that make sense even when nothing else does.

There’s a rhythm to sharing a life, a beat that goes on when the rest of the band is off key and in disarray.

“Been a while since I last popped the question,” Isak says, turning to scoop the porridge into two bowls. “Coffee?”

“I try to abstain,” Even says, taking a seat at the table. “It doesn’t mix well with my—body.”

Isak gives him a smile. “I wish I could quit. I get a headache if I don’t have at least two cups a day. Would you like some tea instead?”

“I mean if it’s not a bother.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “I’ll charge extra for the hard labor.”

Even watches Isak rummage in the cupboard muttering to himself, then lay out half a dozen tea bags on the table in a manner that reminds Even of the Pokémon card matches he’d have against his classmates when life was still simple and the world the size of a desk. The memory tugs at the corner of his mouth like the finger of a child.

Something tickles him behind the ear, a hot phantom touch as though the house had hands. A strained muscle in his neck convulses and relaxes.

“Pick your poison. I don’t know what any of these are,” Isak admits, rubbing the back of his neck, then gives out a huffed laugh. “Not sure why I still hold onto them after all these months.”

Even leans forward on his chair and lands two fingers on a bag of lemon tea, pulling it toward himself. “This is great with honey, have you ever tried it?”

Isak cocks his head. “I don’t like honey,” he says, stuffing the tea box back to the cupboard. “Too sweet.”

“Not the words you’d expect from a beekeeper.”

Isak sneers and slumps down onto the chair opposite to Even. “Thank you for pointing out the irony,” he says with all the mockery in the world in his voice, but the twinkle in his eyes gives him away.

Even laughs. “If it’s any consolation, I’m pitching for an ad campaign for adult diapers next week.”

“What’s the tagline?”

“Kind of you to assume I’ve managed to come up with one.”

He hasn’t.

Isak leans back in his chair with a playful smile creeping onto his lips. “How about _shit happens— but not in your pants_.”

Even can't help the giggle that escapes. “Not bad.”

“You can have it. Under one condition.”

Even quirks a brow. “You want 50 percent of the cash?”

“No," Isak says.

“75 percent?”

“It’s not money I want.”

“If it’s my soul you’re after, you’re a little late. Sold it to the devil as part of my graduation requirements.”

“I want you to help me with the hive today. After I’ve picked you up from the church.”

“I’ve never done any beekeeping in my life.”

“Neither had I advertised for adult diapers. But turns out I’m a natural. Say, are you easier to get along with when you're hungry or with a full stomach?”

“Full stomach.”

“So are the bees. See? You already have something in common.”

“Fine”, Even grunts and begins to shovel porridge into his mouth.

With Isak smirking at him from across the table, it doesn’t taste bland at all.

*

“Well? How do I look?”

Isak scrapes at the reddish possibly-ketchup blob with his thumbnail, biting his lip in concentration.

Even doesn’t hate the picture he paints.

“Not bad,” Isak says, then looks up from the stain and pats Even on both shoulders in a gesture that makes a vein on Even’s neck pulsate. “All things considering.”

Even gives him a playful push. “You’d make a shitty fairy godmother.”

“Didn’t realize I was auditioning for the role,” Isak says and picks a bit of lint off of Even’s suit.

“Life is an open audition.”

Isak cocks his head. “And which role are you auditioning for, Zero-Zero-Seven?”

“Me? Why, I’m the director,” Even spreads his arms wide and gives a twirl in his rumpled suit, but his socks slide on the wooden floor, causing him to flounder and nearly trip over himself.

Isak’s hands grab him by the shoulders, steadying him.

“Nice directing there, pal.”

“The floor’s slippery.”

“See, that’s why I don’t necessarily agree with you,” Isak says, “on the directing thing,” he clarifies when Even gives him a puzzled look. “I don’t think you can control your life. There are just too many variables. Sometimes the floor is slippery. Sometimes it rains all June,” he continues before looking down with a smirk. “Sometimes all you can do is change your socks when there’s a hole in them.”

Even glances at his feet, then wiggles his big toe. “Well, shit.”

“You can borrow mine. But hurry up, you don’t want to be late.”

*

They’ve been on the road for no more than three minutes, yet Even is already starting to get antsy.

“You really don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“I could’ve called a taxi.”

“I’m desperate for that five-star review.”

“I could be a contract killer.”

“Assuming that contract killers can’t write killer reviews is short-sighted and frankly discriminatory.”

“What if I’ve been hired to kill you.”

“You wouldn’t. I have a cat.”

“I fail to see the connection.”

“People with cats live longer lives.”

“Do they now?”

“Do you always talk so much or just when someone is trying to help you?”

Even snorts and presses his temple against the car window. At times it feels like Isak can read him like an open book, and it’s oddly unnerving.

Isak is right in his observation. Even’s always been reluctant to ask for help. So much that he still carries a scar from the time he fell from a tree trying to fetch his kite at ten years old.

So yes, he’s always been a hard-headed, stubborn, I-want-to-make-my-own-mistakes kind of guy. Then he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and since then it’s been even harder for him to accept help even when willingly offered. _Allowing me to help you doesn’t make you weak_ , he remembers Sonja whispering with glossy eyes at one point.

He’s gotten better at it, he thinks, his now taking advantage of free rides from people who never asked him to be here when ten years ago he would’ve rather ran all the way to the church a solid proof of it, but part of him still fights back.

Because he doesn’t want to be weak, that’s certainly part of the reason, but more than anything, he doesn’t want to be a liability, the stone dragging everyone down with him when all they want is to swim.

He’d rather be nothing.

Isak groans at the radio dial, shuffling through static noise in a doomed attempt to find a channel that doesn’t crackle. A few notes of some country song start playing, until the signal breaks up again with a hiss. “Sorry if I hit a nerve,” he says.

“Nah. You were right, and I was being dramatic,” Even says. “I’m pretty shit at accepting help.”

Isak stops tinkering with the radio signal, focusing on the road again. “We’re Norwegian, we can’t help it.”

“Yeah,” Even chuckles softly.

They drive past the pond where he lost his virginity to a freckled girl and, as a consequence, probably at least two table spoons of blood to mosquitoes on a placid summer night.

It’s a fond memory. Messy and awkward and happened so long ago that the person in it feels distant now, like listening to someone recount their dream of him, but if he closes his eyes, he can still almost hear the whine of the mosquitoes.

Maybe that’s why sharing something about himself suddenly feels so appealing to him, a pressing urge in his throat.

“There’s that, and also, I’m bipolar.”

“Okay,” Isak says.

Then it becomes quiet.

It’s not the reaction Even was expecting. Or, he’s not sure what he was expecting, considering that over the years he has encountered a fair share of reactions, ranging from _oh how terrible_ to _so you’re crazy then huh_ to _does it have something to do with penguins_.

All he knows is that he wasn’t expecting _this_ , a one-word response and a silence that doesn’t feel smothering, but then again, maybe he should have, because something he has learned about Isak and grown fond of during the short while that he’s known him is his ability to find something grow in the cracks that everyone else would just fall through.

“It’s a mental illness,” Even says, voice stiff like reading from a book.

It’s an odd thing to say. He knows Isak knows. He thinks it’s a defense mechanism when he fears he may have revealed too much.

It’s Isak’s turn to chuckle. “I know what it is. I handle medication for it pretty much on a weekly basis.”

“In this town?”

“Where else?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just never thought there’d be other people with bipolar here. Since everything’s so, you know, picturesque.”

The radio lets out a cough, and You Sexy Thing by Hot Chocolate starts playing at full volume.

“Fuck,” Isak slams a hand on the off button, eyes wide with horror. Even can’t help the snicker that escapes his mouth. The sheer panic on Isak’s face alone is worth whatever comes after this.

The song cuts off, but the beat lingers in the space between them.

Isak straightens his posture, but his hands clutch the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. “I’m sure there are mentally ill people even in the Moomin Valley,” he continues eventually, regaining his composure. “But I get what you mean. There was a time I thought I was the only gay guy in Oslo. I mean I know it’s not the same—”

Even grins. “I hooked up with a guy from Bjølsen last month. Pretty sure he was gay.”

“And what made you so sure?” Isak asks, assuming the same teasing tone.

“He was a terrible kisser.”

“Fuck off,” Isak gives Even’s face a shove.

They look away from each other then.

“You’re not gonna ask me how I’m managing it?”

“I will if you come to my work with a prescription.”

“And if I’m riding in your shitty car on my way to the funeral of a classmate who died too young where I will be surrounded by people that haven’t seen me since I had a manic episode and relocated to Oslo?”

“I won’t. Unless you want me to.”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay. Just don’t disrespect my car again.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m messing with you. Expect the engine to break down any moment now.”

“You can kiss goodbye to your five stars if that happens.”

“I’d find a way to make up for it.”

They make it to the church in time with no breakdowns, and Even’s heart sinks in disappointment.

Partly because engine malfunction would have given him the perfect excuse to avoid the funeral.

But mostly because his body tingles with curiosity at the thought of Isak finding a way to make up for it.


	3. Buddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends!!! i'm so sorry it took me almost a month to update. i had some surgery, which made it impossible for me to sit at my laptop (a horrible fate!), and i was a bit too optimistic about my recovery time. i also wrote a little something for the evakteket summer challenge, which you can read here: [phosphorescence](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/14986772). thank you for all your support!! for the longest time i felt like an impostor posting my weird fic here, so it means a lot.
> 
> ao3 is acting up today, i'm sorry if this posted twice. 
> 
> about this chapter. if you're only here for the romance, you will be very bored. should i tag this with slow burn even if the fic itself isn't THAT long?
> 
> from now on, there will be mentions of past thoughts of self-harm in this fic. if you are currently struggling with these thoughts, please know that you are not alone and you deserve all the help you need. [here](http://www.suicidestop.com/call_a_hotline.html) is a list of suicide hotlines worldwide. this fic isn't about dying, it's about living, so nothing bad is gonna happen, don't worry.

Even’s never been religious.

His parents never went to church, and while his grandmother would read him a bedtime prayer whenever he stayed over at her house, the last crumbs of whatever small faith he may have had in her voice reaching some omnipotent power beyond their control turned to dust when he was diagnosed with bipolar.

It’s a cruel world, if there is a god that wants him to live this way, he had thought.

Even so, there is something about churches that makes Even hold his breath. It’s not the presence of something holy or divine. Rather, it’s the void he feels in its place, like an accident waiting to happen. Here everything has an echo: a cough, a sob, a hymnal rustling, all echoing tenfold. A glass shattering would probably make a sound like a hundred icicles crashing down at once.

Everything feels louder in the quiet.

Careful not to make the bench creak, Even takes a seat at the back row, surprised when he straightens his back and finds no curious head turning to gape at him. _Not everything is about you_ , Sonja’s voice echoes inside his brain as he reaches out to grab a hymnal, clutching it like a shield between himself and the quiet world. It grounds him to have something tangible to hold onto when he’s anxious.

Someone sits down next to him then—Erik, Even recognizes his face. They sat together in English all those years ago. He had a bright, bubbly laugh, like a wagtail that had just learned to fly, and the way his nose wrinkled when he laughed made him look like a hamster. Even had written as much in a love note to him; only the note had been caught in the wrong hands, and it had been a horrible mess, and then he’d had his episode, and that had been the end of it.

Even’s shoulders tense. Feeling his breathing quickening, he begins to flip through the pages of the hymnal.

“May I?” Erik asks gingerly, the bench creaking as he shifts as though about to get up, “Or I can go and fetch one from another row if you’d rather—”

“Oh, no, of course,” Even says, swiftly placing the hymnal between them.

“Thanks,” Erik mouths and gives him a smile.

His hair is shorter than it once was, his jawline stronger, shoulders wider, but his nose still wrinkles like a hamster’s.

Even nods. “No problem.”

There’s a sniffle, a thud. An old man’s cough. A child giggling. A hush, Emma, we’re in a church. Another giggle, a cough.

Then the roar of the organ washes over them like thunder in the mountains.

*

The funeral ends like summer rain: suddenly, without a warning it’s over, and people begin to scatter like clouds, some of them carrying on as before, some of them forever changed.

“Are you going to the memorial service?” Erik asks as they’re walking towards the parking lot, their hands tugged in their pockets, the gravel crunching under their dress shoes.

“I kind of promised to be somewhere after this,” Even says, avoiding Erik’s gaze.

It’s a flimsy excuse, he knows Isak wouldn’t mind if he went. Why would he mind— They’re virtual strangers, while these are people Even’s shared an entire childhood with. These are the people that knew him before he became whatever he is now.

It's a flimsy excuse, but there is some truth to it. It's not because he promised to meet Isak; it's because wants to.

Erik lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag. “Don’t worry, I’m not going either,” he says then. “Not really my scene. But I did talk to Svante and Solveig a little bit back there, at the graveyard. They seemed grateful that everyone came. Did you see them?”

Even kicks a rock with the tip of his shoe, burying his hands deeper in his pockets. “I didn’t know what to say to them,” he says. There is a pause before he adds, “‘My condolences’ sounded so corny.”

Erik hums. “I’m sure they didn’t ask you to come so you could console them,” he says, nudging Even’s arm to pass him the cigarette.

Even snags it with a shrug, then takes a puff and blows out rings of smoke. “I’m not sure I know why they wanted me here,” he admits, watching the smoke disappear into the clear summer air. “I hadn’t spoken to Snorre since I—left. And with everything that happened before…”

“I think we’re here because Snorre would’ve wanted it that way,” Erik says, his voice so sincere that Even almost believes it. “I saw him at a bar three years ago or so. He was pretty drunk; we didn’t talk much. But he said he’s sorry, that he regrets how things turned out. He said he wishes he could take it all back.”

“Well he can’t take it back now that he’s dead, can he now,” Even retorts, blinking hard to fight back the tears pricking his eyes. “That fucking idiot, why wasn’t he wearing his fucking seatbelt?  _Shit_ ,” he lets out a stifled yell, stubbing the cigarette out with the heel of his shoe.

“That was my second reaction when I heard the news,” Erik says, his voice starting to tremble as he continues, “At first I— I feared it might be you.”

Even’s stomach sinks. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says emphatically before stooping to pick up the cigarette butt, which he slips into his breast pocket. “I’ve got it under control now.”

Erik meets Even’s eyes. “You don’t know how glad I’m to hear that. We were so fucking scared. And when you disappeared without a trace—”

“I’m sorry,” Even says. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I needed to start over, and I didn’t think anyone would care.”

Erik smiles. “I get it. You had things to figure out. But people do care. I know I do. I saw that movie you were always talking about—Romeo + Juliet. I rented it for a movie date, and as I was watching it, all I could think was man, I wish Even was here, so I could tell him what a piece of crap this movie is.”

Even feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s a classic.”

“Well, it sucked. It feels great to finally be able to say that,” Erik grins. “It would be cool to hear from you every once in a while, you know. Not just when there’s a funeral to attend.”

Even smiles. “Yeah, you too.”

“I live in London now. Working for the embassy there. How about you? Still in Norway?”

“In Oslo,” Even nods. “I make ads. Or try to. Figuring things out.”

“You were always the creative one,” Erik says, unlocking his car. It’s a brand-new Tesla, a far cry from Isak’s Saab 900.

Even laughs, his eyes briefly widening as he notices the golden ring gleaming on Erik’s left hand. It makes him painfully aware of the passing time. They’re not kids anymore. They’re adults that supposedly have their shit together: careers, families, spouses, houses, all neatly falling into place along some great one-way high road. They’ve chosen a direction, and they’re heading towards it.

“This?” Erik smiles, wiggling his fingers. “Had our one-month anniversary last week. Still getting used to it.”

“Congratulations,” Even says. “Send my regards to your wife.”

Erik lets out a laugh. “I will. His name is Andy,” he says, brushing a finger over the ring, then looks up with something soft glowing in his eyes. “I guess you knew me before I knew myself.”

Even does his best at trying to hide his surprise. “Congratulations,” he says again.

Erik leans against his car, spinning his car keys around his finger. “What about you? Seeing someone?”

Even sucks in a breath and scratches his head, his hand becoming sticky from all the hair product Isak put there. After ten years with Sonja, answering the question with a no feels like an over-simplification. He’s Even, you know, that guy with Sonja. Everyone knows the script.

Erik seems to understand the silence. “Well, if you ever happen to come to London, just give me a call, and I’ll introduce you to some guys there,” he says. “It’s a  _totally_ different scene over there, I promise you. That is if you’re still…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, only bobs his head once, but Even gets the implication— _If you’re still into guys_.

“That’d be great,” Even says.

Erik breaks into a smile. “Awesome. Are you sure you don’t need a ride?”

Even shakes his head. “I’ve got that covered. But thanks for the offer.”

“All right,” Erik says, stepping into his Tesla. “It was so good to see you, buddy. You should text me some time.”

“You too,” Even says with a wave of his hand, watching as Erik starts his car and drives off, his green Tesla disappearing behind the birch trees.

Then he looks around, making sure that he’s all alone, before slumping onto his knees and burying his face in his hands, his shoulders quaking as waves of emotion surge through his body, one after another. A sob becomes a wail, and then the tears start to fall.

Something brushes his neck.

A breath of wind.


	4. Big Mac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! here is chapter 4. pretty much this entire chapter takes place in a parked car, i'm really sorry about that. they'll go outside in chapter 5, i promise! thank you for all the love and for sticking along despite the slow build.
> 
> please check the end notes for possible triggers.
> 
> songs referred to in this chapter:  
> [van halen - jump](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SwYN7mTi6HM)  
> [yes - owner of a lonely heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9O6e7cgkeqw)

It’s a good cry, like stagnant water starting to flow again, but like all good things, eventually it must come to an end.

As the trembling in his legs subsidies, Even gets up and presses his hands on his cheeks, kneading them as though making a pizza, blinking until the bleary shapes behind his eyelids shift back into trees.

Wiping his nose with his palm, Even let’s out a sniffled laugh. There’s dust on his knees, snot on his cuffs, ash in his pocket. He’s like a three-year-old left to his own devices.

A wagtail is watching him.

“Seems like we’re both wearing black today, you and me,” Even says at the bird. It looks young, like it’s still learning how to be a bird.

Not that Even knows a thing about birds.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel startles the bird, and it flies away. Even doesn’t have time to follow its flight path as the car window rolls open and Isak’s head peeks out.

“Ready to go?” Isak asks. There’s a bead of sweat above his upper lip, and his cheeks are flushed as though he’s been running. He looks—alive. Flesh and skin and hair and eyes that shine brighter than the sweat trickling down his temples.

Even nods. A smile tugs at his lips. He thinks he’s smiling, although the sound that comes out is a wet snicker.

The corners of Isak’s eyes crinkle. “Get in then,” he says, jerking his head at the passenger seat. “I’ve been saving you a seat.”

*

“Hungry?” Isak asks as Even fastens his seatbelt.

“What do you have?”

“I was thinking Big Mac,” Isak says, occasionally looking up into the rear-view mirror, “Or along those lines.”

Even laughs. “I like your lines. But isn’t the nearest McDonald’s like an hour away?”

Isak glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Busy?”

Even runs his tongue across his front teeth. “No. You?”

“I’m on vacation,” Isak says, idly tapping his fingers to a rhythm on the steering wheel. Even recognizes the song immediately.

“Already? Mine isn’t until August,” Even says, letting out a heavy sigh. “And I have to close the diaper deal before that,” he curses under his breath.

“Sounds to me like what you need right now is an inspiring cheeseburger,” Isak says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Even lifts an eyebrow, cracking his knuckles in his lap. “Because your brain needs carbs to function?” he asks.

“Fair point,” Isak says, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk. “But I was referring to the following diarrhea.”

“You’re nasty,” Even laughs.  
  
Isak snorts. There’s an untamed glint in his eyes that catches Even’s breath, and for a second the moment glitches, like when you misclick on a video on a slow computer and the sound and the picture get off sync.

Then they both look away again, suddenly, as though having been caught peering through a keyhole, only the rapid clicking of the turn signal carving the silence that falls.

Even can’t recall the last time anyone has made him feel like this.

“What do you say?” Isak eventually asks, his fingers finding a rhythm on the steering wheel again.

Even licks his lips. “As long as you won’t throw me out for shitting my pants.”

“I won’t,” Isak says, then shoots Even a grin. “I’m gonna order three cheeseburgers for myself.”

Even wishes the road to McDonald’s would go on forever.

*

The McDonald’s is crowded with families and teenagers. It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon, after all.

Everything feels like on fast forward.

Even’s hands feel clammy, as though he’d been touching a dead fish. He squeezes his hands into fists, fingers digging into his palms. There’s a prickling sensation under his skin, a heaving in his chest.

He can’t have a panic attack. There is no reason for him to have a panic attack in a random McDonald’s on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

He curls his toes inside his shoes and counts his breaths.

(One, two, three.)

Isak leans his palms against the counter. His voice sounds odd, distant, like through glass; Even is inside a bottle.

He must get out of the bottle.

“A Big Mac and three cheeseburgers for me. You?” Isak says.

(Six, seven, eight.)

Isak is looking at him with a question on his lips, and all Even can do is hope Isak won’t ask if he is alright. He can’t have that conversation right now. He’s not alright, but he’s not _not_ alright, either: he is here, at McDonald’s, breathing, breathing, breathing.

“Are you against eating in the car? Feel free to wait for me outside, it’s so noisy here,” Isak says to him before turning to talk to the cashier. “Sorry, could you make that two Big Macs, six cheeseburgers, a Coke, and a Fanta?”

Just like that, the bottle cracks, and air starts flowing in.

*

The car smells of burger sauce and the rattling of wrapping paper.

“Sorry,” Even says, pushing the straw through the lid of his Fanta. “That must’ve been a weird experience for you.”

Isak bursts into a loud guffaw, throwing his head back. “What? Ordering six cheeseburgers? That wasn’t even the first time. You must’ve noticed I’m not exactly a culinary mastermind.”

Even lets out an embarrassed chuckle, toying with the straw. “I meant the other thing.”

Isak smiles. There are dabs of hamburger sauce at the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t a weird experience for me.”

“It wasn’t?” Even asks, unable to hide the doubt behind his voice.

“Wasn’t,” Isak says simply before licking off the dabs of sauce. Then he opens his mouth as though to say something else, but quickly closes it, instead proceeding to stuff the rest of his Big Mac into his mouth all at once.

“Okay,” Even says, watching the way Isak’s cheeks billow out as he munches on the burger.

Isak takes a swig out of his coke to wash down the meal, then flattens the wrapping paper and licks it clean before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into take-away bag on the backseat.

Even smiles at him.

“What?” Isak asks incredulously.

“Nothing,” Even hums.

Isak narrows his eyes in a way that indicates he’s not satisfied with Even’s answer.

Even let’s out a nervous laugh. “I’ve never seen anyone wolf down their Big Mac like that,” he admits.

Isak makes a face. “That’s just how you eat a Big Mac. You’ve been hanging out with the wrong crowd.”

“Sonja was a vegan. My ex. Or she still is. I mean. She’s still a vegan. We’re just no longer…”

“You’re saying she wasn’t about the inspiring diarrhea?”

Even snorts. “You could say that.”

“Are you?” Isak says, wiping the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin.

“About the inspiring diarrhea?” Even asks. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“If you feel it coming just tell me and I’ll pull up,” Isak says with a straight face.

Even laughs. “Thanks. I appreciate your concern.”

Isak wiggles his brows, leaning back in his seat. “Just making sure you won’t contaminate my car.”

“I know how much you love your vintage seats,” Even grins, tapping the back of Isak’s headrest. As he does so, his finger brushes a lock of Isak’s hair, and it startles him like touching a hot stove. He quickly draws his hand away and grabs his drink, then sucks on his straw while shuffling the ice cubes around.

Isak closes his eyes for a moment before turning to look at Even. “Can I tell you something random?”

His voice sounds more serious than it did when they were joking around earlier.

“Sure,” Even nods, putting down his drink.

Isak bites his lip. His eyes flicker as he opens his mouth to speak. “My mom has schizophrenia. It might be hereditary. Or it might not. Science is still out on that.”

“I’m sorry,” Even says, because it’s all he knows how to say with words.

The corners of Isak’s mouth twitch.  “Nah,” he says. “It’s pretty unlikely that I have it.”

“Does it scare you?” Even asks but cringes at his own question immediately afterwards. “Sorry if that was inappropriate, you don’t have to answer.”

Isak gives him a smile. “Does crossing the road scare you? Or driving a car?”

“I guess not. I don’t really think about it.”

“Yeah,” Isak hums. “You’d never be able to cross a street if you thought about it too much. Even now, a drunk driver could crash into us on this very moment. But it didn’t happen. See?”

Even nods. “I get it.”

He does get it. It’s taken him years to get here, but slowly he has learned to take life day by day, not episode by episode. There’s more to life than preparing to be hit with another manic or depressive episode: there’s movies, fancy desserts, fountains, old jukeboxes; there’s cigarette breaks with Mikael, there’s sunsets that linger.

There’s Isak’s quiet breathing.

“It did scare me before,” Isak says. “I didn’t always have a good relationship with my mom. I ran away from home when I was fifteen, then moved out shortly after. I was pretty selfish back then, there was too much going on. I didn’t have the means to try and understand, so I cut my mom out of my life for a long time.”

“But you’re living in her house now?” Even asks.

Isak nods. “Mom lives in a group home an hour away. She comes to stay over at our house every other weekend if she’s stable. She likes gardening and that kind of stuff. I’m just trying to keep her plants alive while she’s gone, basically.”

“It’s nice that you’ve reconnected,” Even says.

Isaks eyes gleam with something that resembles regret as he gives Even a tiny smile. “The reason I came to this town is because two years ago my mom tried to kill herself. I was so angry at her for thinking she could just leave me like that, and at myself for being a shitty son.”

Even’s throat tightens. The words hit too close to home. No matter how hard he tries to forget, he will always remember his mother’s broken face before the ambulance came to take him away. It was a face heavy like the mountains in midwinter.

“I’m so sorry,” Even says.

“It’s not your fault,” Isak says gently, his hand brushing Even’s knee. “It’s not your fault. Or mine. Or my mom’s. It’s nobody’s. I became less angry once I realized that. It’s hard to stay angry at nobody.”

Even stares at a speck of dust on his knee that probably got there when he cried earlier, then looks up to see a kind smile dribbling out of the corners of Isak’s mouth. “Nobody’s fault,” he mouths to himself.

“Mom wrote me a letter before she did what she did. I never opened it. I burned it and sprinkled the ashes in the garden.”

“You’re a good son,” Even says.

Isak lets out a quiet chuckle. “Everyone’s a good son unless they, like, murder their mom.”

Even smiles. “I guess so.”

“This was a pretty weird life story to tell a complete stranger,” Isak says wryly.

Even gives a stifled laugh. “I jerked off to the music video of Van Halen’s Jump once.”

The corners of Isak’s eyes crinkle. Even finds himself wanting to touch them, to feel the creases under his fingertips. “Was it Eddie’s tights?” Isak teases, giving Even’s shoulder a nudge.

“It was his playful smile,” Even counters.

A comfortable silence falls between them again, until Isak stretches his arms before him and asks, “Ready to go home? To my house, I mean.”

“What about the rest of the burgers?”

Isak raises a brow. “Those are for later use, obviously. I’m not gonna cook tonight.”

Even grins. “I should’ve known that,” he laughs before fastening his seatbelt. Then he glances at Isak’s hand on the steering wheel and says, “Play that song.”

“What song?”

“The one you were drumming to earlier.”

“What was I drumming to?”

“Owner of a Lonely Heart,” Even says. “By Yes,” he adds when Isak gives him a puzzled look.

“I don’t know that song,” Isak says.

“But you were tapping the melody of the chorus earlier!”

“I really do not know that song,” Isak insists as the car pulls off.

“Fine, I’ll play it to you,” Even says resignedly, reaching for his phone. He finds the song on Spotify and presses play. “Well?”

Isak bobs his head to the rhythm. “Weird,” he says. “I feel like I’m hearing this for the first time, yet I also feel like I know it already. Do you the feeling?"

Even turns up the volume, glancing at Isak's face through the rear view mirror. "Yeah. I know the feeling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> triggers: description of a panic attack, mention of schizophrenia, mention of a past suicide attempt


	5. Busy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a another chapter of this story that i made up! sorry if posting 1k chapters is against some rule book, but it's how i roll.

The day has turned into late afternoon when they arrive at the yellow house, but the air is still hot enough to make sweat pool on Even’s back. Even snakes a hand under his dress shirt to idly scratch at his shoulder blades while his gaze is focused on Isak’s fingers turning the key in the lock.

“Would you like to take a shower before or after?” Isak asks, pulling the door open and stepping into the quiet hallway. “You’re gonna get sweaty either way.”

Even’s hand stills under his shirt, and a startled “huh?” escapes his mouth.

Isak gives an amused chuckle. “I meant before or after visiting the hives.”

“Oh. Right,” Even says. “After is fine, thanks.”

“What did you think I meant?” Isak asks with a hint of teasing in his tone.

Even lets out a nervous giggle, attempting to shrug off the odd tension that has crept upon them. He feels ridiculous all of a sudden, his smooth comebacks shrinking into wrinkly raisins when Isak looks at him like that: all charming and disarming, eyes twinkling with mischief, face open and framed by sun-kissed freckles, the warmth he emits turning Even’s legs into melted ice cream.

Sitting still like a statue at the edge of the rag rug, King Magnus II greets them with a cocked head. Even blinks. Was the cat there two seconds ago?

Isak bends down to scratch it behind the ear. “Hello. Did you miss us?” he asks like talking to a sulky child.

The cat arches its back as though offering a shrug before scurrying off to Isak’s bedroom.

Isak cups a hand to his mouth to whisper, “Don’t let him fool you. He missed us.”

Even gives a small laugh. “Why would he miss me, though? I’m only here for two nights.”

Isak raises his brows. “He’s a cat, Even. He doesn’t give a shit about your human time.”

Even licks his lips. “Right.”

Isak nudges Even with the McDonald’s bag. “I’ve left some clothes in your room, I think we’re the same size. They may not be your style, but you don’t want to be beekeeping in a suit or jeans, trust me. Get changed and meet me outside, I’ll help you with the gear. Is that okay with you?”

“Aye aye Captain,” Even says, raising his hand in mock salute.

“I’ll go put these in the fridge first,” Isak says, giving the paper bag a shake. “Take your time, young lad.”

*

Back in his guest room, Even unbuckles his belt and sticks his belly out to give it a satisfied pat before stepping out of dress pants and throwing them onto the back of a chair. Then he lets his shirt drenched in sweat drop onto the floor and plops down on the bed, running a hand through his damp hair as he studies the cross-stitch angel hanging on the opposite wall.

Oddly enough, since coming to stay with Isak, human time has begun to feel like a distant concept. Something about these past two days has at once felt long like a hundred years, yet brief like a single breath.

Even hasn’t felt this grounded in a long time, this present; it’s like he’s been allowed to exist on the outskirts of time.

Back in Oslo, Even is always running: from deadline to deadline, from project to project, from tram stop to work, from work to therapy, from therapy to grocery. At first, he’d started to run because it kept him busy. You _have_ to keep yourself busy, everyone had said. Keep busy. Stick to your routines. Stay focused. Stay tethered. Stay on track. It had become his mantra. He’d picked a track and started running. Then he’d gotten busy, so he must keep on running.

He’s been running for so long that his knees are hurting, and he’s started to get out of breath.

These past two days with Isak the world has stood still. Not still like the soupy quiet before a storm, no—still like a warm summer night when tiny insects scatter in sunlight like specs of dust.

Still like a heart that doesn’t wander.

A smile tugs at Even’s lips as he reaches to grab the t-shirt nearly folded on the bed. The fabric is worn-out and tattered at the neck line, and at the front there’s a faded Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles print. Even can’t help sniffing the shirt. It smells good, calming, like hugging another person.

It smells like the boy that’s been wearing it.

The scent enwraps Even, and for a moment he wishes he could stay here forever. It’s a naïve wish, like a child wishing for his parents to get back together, but Even can’t stop his heart from yearning for it to be true.

The vibration of his phone snaps him out of the day dream.

It’s Sonja.

Sucking his teeth, Even reads the message and types a response. His phone buzzes again before he can slip it away, and soon they’re having a conversation.

> SONJA: Guess who I saw in Central Park yesterday.
> 
> EVEN: Trying to keep tabs on me all the way from NYC?
> 
> SONJA: You know me too well. :)
> 
> SONJA: Thought you might need some company there. Are you alone?
> 
> EVEN: ~~You know me too well~~ It’s a slightly unconventional arrangement.
> 
> SONJA: Wouldn’t be the first time with you. I still haven’t told Dad the truth about where we stayed at in Budapest.
> 
> EVEN: I may have let it slip at your aunt’s birthday.
> 
> SONJA: You’re kidding.
> 
> EVEN: I’m kidding.
> 
> SONJA: Have you been eating properly? Sleeping?
> 
> EVEN: Is this an interview?
> 
> SONJA: For nosy ex-girlfriend magazine.
> 
> EVEN: Yes, I’ve eaten. Yes, I’ve slept.
> 
> EVEN: Yes, I’ve taken my meds.
> 
> SONJA: You know I’m only asking because I care. You’ve had a big shock. And I know how hard it must have been for you to go back there on your own.
> 
> EVEN: I’m fine.
> 
> EVEN: I’ve had some time to think.
> 
> SONJA: If you say so.
> 
> EVEN: How’s New York, Miranda?
> 
> SONJA: Who are you calling Miranda?
> 
> EVEN: You.
> 
> SONJA: I’m definitely a Carrie.
> 
> EVEN: You? Don’t make me laugh.
> 
> EVEN: She’s not even my type.
> 
> SONJA: And Miranda is?
> 
> SONJA: Wait ok I see it.
> 
> SONJA: New York’s sweltering, and I’m so busy I’m practically sleeping at the office.
> 
> EVEN: Sounds like you’re in your element.
> 
> SONJA: Thanks. I appreciate your saying that.
> 
> EVEN: Miranda.
> 
> SONJA: I’m not accepting that as a nickname.
> 
> SONJA: I’m actually on my way to a meeting, so I really gotta go soon.
> 
> SONJA: But listen.
> 
> SONJA: I’m flying to Oslo for a bit in August. It’s Grandma’s 90th birthday.
> 
> SONJA: See you then?
> 
> EVEN: Hopefully not at the birthday.
> 
> SONJA: At the usual place.
> 
> SONJA: It’s still in business, right?
> 
> EVEN: Oh because you’ve been away for so long already.
> 
> SONJA: Sarcasm detected.
> 
> EVEN: At the usual place.
> 
> SONJA: OK. But I really need to go now. Take care, okay?
> 
> EVEN: Sonja
> 
> SONJA: ?
> 
> EVEN: I think we made the right choice.
> 
> SONJA: I think so too.

Even lets out a tiny laugh and wipes a tear brimming from the corner of his left eye. He remembers reading an article about the science of tears somewhere: how tears of joy, sorrow, and laughter look different under the microscope.

It’s a shame he doesn’t have a microscope.

There’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Do you need more time?” Isak’s voice asks.

Even stands up. “I’m ready.”

 


	6. Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh hi i don't even know what to say! i'm sorry for the long wait. i moved to japan so there's that. but i'm writing again and i love you all.

An old smell of dust and potato skin tickles Even’s nose. It’s dim inside the shed, the only light coming through the doorway. Left ajar, the door flaps in the wind, squeaking as though it were engaged in a whispered conversation. If walls have ears, perhaps doors have mouths, Even thinks.

“Feeling comfortable?” Isak asks, zipping up Even’s veil.

The white beekeeping suit rustles as Even waggles his arms. “I feel like a condom.”

Isak lets out a giggle so genuine that it vibrates in Even’s body even through the fabric of the suit. “Safe beekeeping is great beekeeping,” Isak nods.

“Don’t let me get pregnant,” Even says. The veil is on the way, like a massive insect eye plastered across his face, but he can still see the way Isak’s lips curve into a grin.

“Stay close to me then,” Isak says, then lets out a loud gasp. “We’re forgetting something!”

“The lube?” Even deadpans. The protective gear is making him feel oddly gutsy. It’s not like Isak can make out the details of his face through the veil here in the dark.

The joke seems to take Isak by surprise, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open, but he quickly regains his composure, a nonchalant smirk appearing onto his lips before he turns his back to carefully pick up a steel object that reminds Even of a rusty, oddly shaped coffee pot. “The lube of beekeeping, if you will,” Isak says. “This is a smoker,” he explains, his eyes sparkling fondly at the object as though there were a genie dwelling inside. “The smoke will calm the bees, so I can open the hive.”

Even studies the smoker with curiosity.  “You’re sure they really won’t attack us?”

“As long as we know what we’re doing,” Isak reassures.

“And you’re sure we know what we’re doing?” Even teases.

Isak crinkles his nose and sticks out his tongue. “Bees are peaceful creatures. They sting only when threatened, and the smoke should dullen that instinct,” he says. “A honeybee can only sting once; then it dies. It won’t throw its life away for nothing.”

 _Unlike you_.

Even touches the smoker with his index finger, then instinctively sniffs his fingertip. A faint smell of rust. “Maybe I should’ve been born a bee,” he snorts to himself and attempts to slip his hands into his pockets before remembering the suit doesn’t have any, then looks up to see the grin on Isak’s face is gone.

Isak raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. Instead, he places the smoker on top of various other beekeeping tools in a wooden box and thrusts the box to Even’s arms. Not expecting the box to be so heavy, Even’s posture sinks down. Isak quickly zips up his suit before ushering them out, then snaps shut the padlock on the door and says, “Did you know that bees use dance to communicate information about locations to other members of the colony?”

Even gives a shrug, fixing his grip on the box. “I feel like I should’ve known that.”

Isak smiles. “Maybe you did. You just didn’t remember it.”

Even cocks his head. The tool box feels lighter, somehow.

When Even lowers his gaze, he finds a ladybug landed on the smoker. They’re all different shades of the same color, Even realizes: Rust and blood and ladybug.

*

 

The smoke has a soft lull to it.

It draws the bees in, and within moments the hive slows down like a purring cat with a million pair of wings.

It may be the most mesmerizing thing Even’s ever seen.

“Did you always want to become a beekeeper?” Even asks as Isak hands him the smoker to hold.

“Ever since I was little,” Isak says in a pompous voice.

“Really?”

Isak laughs. “No. Or I don’t know. My Grandma kept bees. That’s actually her smoker, in case you were wondering why it’s so fucking rusty.” Isak nods his head towards the smoker in Even’s hand without removing his eyes from the hive, then slowly proceeds to take off the top cover, placing it upside down in the tall grass.

The low buzzing of the hive pulsates in the air, enwrapping Even in a cocoon of warmth. Once the cover has been removed, Isak lifts out a frame swarming with drowsy bees and looks up to meet Even’s eyes, his face beaming so bright it makes something inside Even’s chest hurt.

“These are my bees.”

Even gives a tiny wave of his hand. “Hi—there.”

Isak nods, placing the frame back into the hive. “I’d come here during the holidays as a kid,” he says. “Grandma would teach me all sorts of things: how to inspect the hive, how to replace the queen, how to harvest honey, how to tell the bees.”

“How to tell the bees?” Even repeats, fixing his eyes on a lone bee that has landed on his veil.

Isak takes a step closer and carefully picks the bee off of Even’s veil. For some reason the gesture makes Even’s breath catch in his throat. “If you don’t keep your bees updated on what’s going on in the household, they might leave their hive or die,” Isak says, then opens his palm to release the bee. “Or so my Grandma said.”

“I didn’t know that was a thing.”

Isak cocks his head. “It’s more of an English tradition,” he explains, then lets out a soft chuckle. “I did wonder why my Grandma was so keen on teaching me it, but then a couple of years ago I found some pretty steamy letters in her drawer from an English sailor by the name of Ridgewell Hancock.

“Ridgewell Hancock?” Even laughs. “Your grandma sounds like a badass woman.”

Isak hums. “I didn’t always want to become a beekeeper. If you’d tell my 16-year-old self that in the future I’d be keeping bees in Grandma’s house, I’d have stabbed myself in the eye.” Isak pulls a face behind his veil, then exhales quietly.

“But when Mom tried to kill herself, it made me realize that I don’t want to move away from the past; I want to continue it.”

Even smiles. “You’re quite the philosopher,” he says, pinching the fabric of Isak’s suit.

Isak crosses his arms. “If I were you, I wouldn’t fuck with the guy with the army of bees.”

“Who says I’m fucking with you?” Even laughs.

Isak gives him a nudge and whispers, “Maybe the wind spilled your secret.”

Even rolls his eyes.

Silence falls between them like soft leaves.

Fading sunlight sways on the hive like willowherb in the wind.

Even closes his eyes: he has lost track of time.

Eventually, when the shadows have grown longer and the work is done, Isak removes his veil, sweaty curls sticking to his temples.

It may be the most mesmerizing thing Even’s ever seen.

“Thanks for your help,” Isak says.

“If standing here like a flag pole is considered helping,” Even says self-deprecatingly.

Isak furrows his brows. “You do know that you’re being awfully hard on yourself, right?”

Even lets out a high laugh and gives Isak’s shoulder a punch. “All right, all right,” he says, but his voice lacks sincerity. “It was great helping you.”

Isak hums. “Good,” he says. “Shower? And then coffee. I mean—tea.”

 

*

Isak’s hair is still dripping wet as he sits down next to Even on the stairs. He smells of soap and warm skin.

“Had a good shower?” Isak asks.

Even nods. It had felt good to wash away the day. Whoever decided that phoenixes need to burn in order to be reborn had obviously never had a 20-minute shower.

“Good. Sorry about the water pressure. It took me a while to get used to it.”

Even shakes his head and gives a faint smile.

A skylark becomes a tiny spot in the sky before it disappears.

“Ready for tea?” Isak asks.

Even blinks. “Yeah,” he says then, rolling his shoulders and bending his neck from side to side.

“Or we could just sit here for a while,” Isak says.

The skylark is back again, gliding across the sky.

“Can I ask you something?” Isak says.

“Go for it,” Even says.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you always know you wanted to go into advertising?”

A snort escapes Even’s mouth. “No. It just happened that way. Sonja…”

“The ex-girlfriend.”

“The ex-girlfriend,” Even nods, searching the skylark with his gaze.

“It was her idea. I didn’t have a plan after I got sick. It took me four years just to finish fucking high school. But Sonja wanted to study marketing. She had this plan all thought out. So we applied together, got in, went to the student parties, did all the group projects together. She even got me my first job. Everyone said how great it is that I’m now on this _path_. I was a mess before, but now everything’s amazing because I have this degree and this career and this path.”

“And is it?”

Even feels the corners of his mouth twitch. “Why do you keep asking such hard questions?” he says, turning to face Isak.

Isak grins. “Teacher said there aren’t stupid questions.”

“Fuck that teacher.”

“Not my type,” Isak shrugs.

A smile tugs at Even’s lips. He’s so fond of Isak he would let him do almost anything to him.

And that includes letting him ask him weird personal questions.

Even scratches the back of his neck. “It’s not amazing,” he says, sucking his teeth. “But what am I supposed to do? I can’t just quit and start over. I’ve already wasted so much time.”

“Mom told me about this book once. By some old Japanese guy. She likes that stuff. In that book the old Japanese guy said something like, ‘Time flows in the same way for all human beings; every human being flows through time in a different way.’”

Even raises an eyebrow. “You’re trying to tell me I still have time?”

Isak crinkles his nose. “Or maybe I’m just trying to impress you with my literary references.”

“Does this old Japanese guy have a name?”

“I don’t know. Do I look like I know the names of Japanese authors?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Even teases, pursing his lips.

“I can take it,” Isak says, puffing his chest out.

“You look good.”

Isak lowers his gaze and gives an embarrassed smile. “Thanks,” he says. “You look good, too.”

They both look up to the sky then. As the heat of the shower evaporates, the dusk starts to feel chilly against Even’s skin.

“Does it work? You know, telling the bees,” Even asks.

Isak shakes his head. “No.”

“Oh,” Even lets out a puff of disappointment.

“But I do it anyway. What you tell the bees, the bees will tell no one,” Isak says and lays a hand upon Even’s shoulder for support before getting up. “I’m cold. I’ll go boil the water, come whenever you’re ready.”

The door flaps shut behind Isak, but the shape of his hand lingers on Even’s shoulder, sending shivers down Even’s spine. Even wraps his arms around himself and watches as a bee emerges from inside a globeflower.

“Hi there, bee,” he says, slowly rocking himself back and forth.

Talking to a bee feels stupid, like he’s finally lost his mind, but there’s no stopping the words once they start to pour out.

“A beautiful night, huh? Sorry to unload this on you, but I buried an old friend today. He wasn’t old, though. He was—young. Too young. Too young to die. He never asked to die. ‘No one asks to die, they just do,’ you say? That’s where you’re wrong. You may not understand me, because you’re a bee and you have your purpose, but I tried to kill myself once. That didn’t go so well for me, since I’m still here.”

Even lets out a sad laugh.

“Isn’t that ironic? It could’ve been me in the coffin. I almost did that to the people that love me.”

Even closes his eyes.

“I guess what I’d like to know is—when does the guilt end?”                        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the old japanese guy is kawabata yasunari.


	7. Break(fast)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!!! here is chapter seven! we're almost done. i hope you like this chapter even though it is a little bit angsty. thank you so much for all your comments so far, i read honestly them all the time and they really encourage me when i'm feeling not so proud of my writing. you're the best readers i could've ever dreamed of!

A knock on the door wakes him up. It takes a moment for Even’s eyes to open fully, and his eyelids flutter as he focuses his gaze onto a black spot on the ceiling. As his vision sharpens, the spot swallows the shape of Even’s dream like a black hole before it disappears.

Even blinks, furrows his brow in concentration.

The dream escapes his thoughts, but the feeling remains: last night was the first time in months he didn’t dream of Sonja.

There’s another knock then, slightly more determined this time.

“Are you awake?” Isak’s voice asks. “I’ve made breakfast.”

Even kicks off the duvet and sits up. “I am now.”

The cat scratches at the door. There is a muted _shush_ before Isak asks, “Can I let the cat in? He might not take no for an answer, though.”

Even smiles to himself and throws his legs off the bed, grabbing his meds from the night stand as though he’d been keeping them there since forever. “You can both come in. I can smell the burger from here.”

As soon as the door opens, King Magnus II dashes across the room and springs up onto the windowsill, the tip of his tail quickly disappearing behind the curtain. Even turns to look at Isak then, finding him still hovering in the doorway, as though hesitating to step in, shifting a bright orange floral tray in his arms.

Even raises an eyebrow. “Breakfast in bed?”

Isak lets out an embarrassed laugh. “Testing out a new marketing plan. Is it too much? I can take this back—I was going to—”

Even tilts his head, feeling a wicked smile creeping onto his lips. “You got cold feet.”

“No.”

“You were going to chicken out.”

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Isak mumbles, dropping the tray onto the night stand with a clatter. “Bon appétit.”

Even crosses his legs on the bed and grabs his pillow, swinging it onto the floor in front of Isak’s feet before putting his hands on his knees and leaning back. “Stay,” he says, nodding at the pillow and the tray, “It’s no fun eating alone.”

Isak gives a sigh, but his shoulders relax as he sits down cross-legged onto the floor, and an amused expression plays on his face. “Grandma’d say a meal needs to be shared for it to be considered eating; otherwise it’s just feeding.”

“Ouch.”

Isak lets out a giggle. “Yeah. Ouch.”

“You eat often?” Even asks, glancing at the two leftover cheeseburgers from yesterday placed side by side onto the tray.

Isak sucks in a breath. “You?”

“Does it count if Netflix’s on?”

Isak laughs. “I’d say that’s still pretty one-sided.”

“One-sided eating,” Even says and steals a glance at Isak who is too occupied with pickles falling out of his burger to notice.

“One-sided eating,” Isak says before the burger wrapping paper covers his face.

*

Even finishes his burger in three bites and lets out a satisfied burb before wadding the paper into a ball. “I thought your breakfast menu only included porridge.”

Isak’s lips curve mischievously. “Today’s chef’s special,” he says. “It’s my birthday.”

“Seriously?

“Seriously. Don’t you think I look older than yesterday?” Isak says and strikes a pose on the floor, kicking the pillow into the air as he does so.

Even laughs. “I haven’t been looking that carefully.”

(It’s a lie.)

“Maybe you should’ve,” Isak says. “So you would’ve noticed.”

Even rolls his eyes. “That you’ve aged a _day_?”

Isak grinds his jaw and drops his voice into a Barry White baritone. “You gotta look carefully, son.”

Even coughs and nearly spits out his apple juice. “Was that supposed to be an impression of someone?”

“It was me now as an older man,” Isak says.

Even laughs, putting his drink down onto the night stand. “You need more practice.”

“Don’t tell me what I need, son,” Isak gruffs, slouching towards Even like a freshly awakened zombie.

“Drop the voice, you disgust me,” Even says and playfully kicks Isak in the shoulder, unable to hide his grin.

“You disgust—” Isak’s baritone is cut off by a coughing fit, and without getting up he gropes about the night stand for Even’s glass of apple juice, finishing it with a loud gulp while still lying on his stomach. “—me.”

Even pokes Isak’s forehead with his toes. “Get up and on my level, worm.”

“You get on mine.”

Neither of them moves an inch, as though afraid of being the one to give out. It becomes quiet enough for Even to hear their breathing quickening—or is it only his own breathing that is loud and restless?

It is then that King Magnus II jumps off the windowsill and onto the bed.  Cheeks flushed from laughing and coughing, Isak sits up to pet the cat.

Even can’t think of anything clever to say, so he turns to draw the curtains, peering out the window. Clouds are moving fast; it’s going to rain tonight in Oslo, he remembers suddenly.

Tonight. He is going to be back in Oslo _tonight_.

Isak’s voice startles Even out of his head. His eyes look quiet and concerned.

“Have you called a taxi already?”

“Taxi? Not yet, sorry—”

Isak’s expression brightens. “I can take you to the station.”

Even shakes his head. “You’ve already done so much.”

“Five-star review, remember?” Isak says, and Even gives him a smile. “And besides, I’m picking up someone there today anyway, with or without you. So it’s no bother, really.”

“A new customer already? When I’m barely out the door? People actually know this town exists now?” Even teases.

Isak gives a faint smile. His voice sounds hesitant. “Yeah. Or no—”

King Magnus II meows. Even thinks it’s asking for attention and runs his hand across the cat’s back.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Isak says, and just like that, without permission, Even’s heart sinks like a drop of water in a can of oil.

“Oh,” Even says, forcing a smile. “That’s—nice. Since it’s your birthday and all.”

Isak lets out a small laugh and scratches his temple. “We’re on a break. So not technically really my boyfriend. More like ex-boyfriend.”

“But you’re getting back together.”

Isak gives a soft chuckle. “That was the plan.”

“I think it’s a great plan,” Even says. “You have to fight for love when you find it.”

“And how do you know you’ve found it?” Isak asks with a raised brow.

Even laughs. “I don’t know.” He gives the ball of paper in his hand one more squeeze before dropping it onto the tray. “Call me when you know the answer.”

*

“—train to Oslo leaves from track one.”

“Alright,” Even says, rolling his shoulders. “That’s my cue. Thanks for everything. You know, the ride and the bed.”

Isak smiles. “Thanks for dropping by. It was nice meeting you,” he says before holding out his hand. “Since I didn’t get to greet you properly the other day,” he nods at his hand, waiting for Even to clasp it.

Even swallows and shakes Isak’s hand. His handshake is firm and strong, and the skin at the back of his hand rough but warm.

As their handshake breaks off, Even feels a warm breeze gently kiss the back of his neck.

Isak is smiling still, the golden hour coloring his face.

Even wants to remember him like this forever.

Thinks he is going to remember him like this forever.

Is going to remember this, forever.

Even stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels and anxiously glancing over at the clock. “I guess this is it then.”

Isak nods.

“Goodbye, Isak,” Even says.

“Goodbye, Even,” Isak says.

“Wait,” Even says, grabbing Isak by the shoulder just as he is about to turn away. “There is something I should’ve told you.”

_I want to remember you forever._

_I think I’m going to remember you forever._

_I don’t want to go._

_I don’t want you to go._

_Can’t I stay here forever?_

Something flickers in Isak’s gaze. “What is it?”

Even lets go of Isak's shirt and shakes his head.

“Happy birthday,” he says.


	8. Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're close to the end friends!!!! i really am sorry for the slight angst in the previous chapter, but i would never write a story where they don't end up together so please breathe easy. this chapter is my first attempt at writing mikael and sonja as characters. i'm a bit nervous but i hope i did ok. thank you for all the wonderful responses and have a lovely weekend! also i'm [@isaksbestpillow](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, i feel like i've been forgetting to mention that lately haha.

“You could still call him, you know. Text him. Look him up on Facebook. Bribe me to book a room for us at that Airbnb of his and let you pretend like you had no idea.” Mikael flashes Even a smile before reaching to steal a fry off his plate. “You know I’m cheap.”

Even sucks the last drag out of his cigarette before butting it out against the ashtray and dropping it in. “He has a boyfriend,” he says and pushes the plate of leftover fries towards Mikael, then bends down to pick a fallen napkin off the ground and places it on the table.

Monday has settled upon Oslo like a cloud of dust, specs of it clinging onto every surface.

“I think I heard you say they’re on a break,” Mikael’s voice cuts in.

“Yeah, but they’re _getting back together_ ,” Even says sharply.

Mikael lifts a shoulder in half a shrug, popping a fry into his mouth. “Worked well with you and Sonja, that one.”

Even begins to massage the back of his neck. “It was different for us,” he insists.

“The first time or the second time?” Mikael’s tone is amused, like he’s enjoying trying to wind Even up.

Even lets out an embarrassed huff of laughter. “You know it was different for us. It was a mistake. _Both times_.”

Maybe it did take three tries for Sonja and him to break up for good, but that was due to their very specific, very complicated circumstances.

“Like giving artificial respiration to a mummy,” Mikael nods solemnly.

Even runs his tongue across his upper teeth. “Why are you always so cynical?”

“I’m just quoting you. Do you want me to show you the pose?” Mikael tosses his hair, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. “ _It’s not working, Mikael; it’s like we’re giving artificial respiration to a mummy._ ”

Even bites his lip to stop a chuckle trying to escape his mouth. “I’ve never done that pose.”

“But it made you laugh.”

Even gives a smile. “I guess it did.”

Mikael smiles back. “Good. Your brooding is such a waste of a decent face.”

Even snorts. “Remind me why I agree to spend all my lunch hours with you.”

“Because I’m your oldest and dearest friend and eating lunch with me is the only time during your work day you don’t feel like you have to sell yourself to an audience,” Mikael says with a smirk, leaning back in his chair until he nearly falls over. “Either that or because hanging out with university dropouts gives you the ego boost and validation that you so desperately seek.”

Even rolls his eyes and without much thought reaches to grab the last fry on the plate. The taste of salt fills his mouth.

“Do you ever regret dropping out?” he asks then, meeting Mikael’s gaze.

“Hell fucking no,” Mikael says with all the conviction in the world in his voice. “I like being a hairdresser. I like myself this way.”

“I hate my job.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“I talk about it too much, don’t I?”

“You talk about it the perfect amount for someone who hates their job.”

Even let’s out a bark of laughter. “You know, I had an idea on the train last night,” he says.

An idea, a haze, a dream, a hunch, one of those things. A sudden feeling that had crept upon him from the mountains blurring against the night sky like backs of whales surging from the sea.

Mikael raises a brow. “For the adult diaper slogan?”

“What if I just quit?”

“The diapers?”

“Everything,” Even says, watching the way Mikael’s eyes widen in surprise. “My job, I mean.”

“Is this a rhetorical question or whatever’s the opposite of that? A question question.”

“I’m serious. What if I quit my job?”

“Then you’d no longer have a job to hate.”

“I know. So what do you think?” Even repeats, his entire body itching with nervous expectation.

Mikael tilts his head, a swath of hair falling onto his forehead. “I think that you don’t need my permission or approval to quit your job.”

“Maybe I need someone to tell me it’s fine to be bipolar and out of work at the same time,” Even says and reaches out to shove Mikael’s hair away from his face.

Mikael gives him a smile. “It’s fine to be bipolar and out of work at the same time.”

Relief tingles in Even’s chest. It’s out there now, the possibility of it, at least.

At last.

“What do you want to do? If you quit your job,” Mikael asks, then quickly adds, “No pressure, though.”

Even shrugs. “I don’t know. Not spend my life thinking of ways to make people consume more.”

“Sounds like a start of a plan to me.” Mikael wiggles his brows, the corner of his mouth twitching to a grin. “You could move up north, start keeping bees or something.”

“Don’t even go there.”

“I know, I know, has a boyfriend and blah blah blah.” Mikael gesticulates with his hands. “I still think you should insert yourself into that equation. There has to be a reason he didn’t bring it up sooner. Now’s your chance. What do you have to lose? Your dignity? I have but two words for you: remember Budapest.”

Even crosses his arms. “Budapest was your fault.”

“I’m not pointing any fingers—even though it was _obviously_ your fault—, only presenting you with the reality. There is something there—find out what it is. Or maybe you’re so hung up on the boyfriend thing because it allows you the perfect cop out so you don’t have to put yourself out there.”

Even fixes the collar of his shirt. “Almost forgot to ask. How’s your dad? Safely back from Egypt?”

“Upset that you would use him as a shield to avoid talking about your personal shortcomings. But he’s back, dinner’s on Friday, and my cousin needs your help with PhotoShop.”

“Did she manage to delete the brushes again?”

“Who even knows at this point,” Mikael says with a shrug, then points a finger at the seagull balancing itself on the railing of the patio. “Has that seagull been there the entire time?”

Even chuckles to himself.

He may be changing, but Oslo remains the same.

And maybe that is not a bad thing entirely.

*

July is a blur of meetings and deadlines, and then it’s over, August arriving with long narrow clouds across the sky.

Sonja crosses her long legs across the table from Even. Her nails are painted pale pink, her hair shorter than before. She’s beautiful still—or beautiful now, Even thinks. It’s like he’s truly _seeing_ her face for the first time in years.

It’s a beautiful face. She’s a person.

She’s a _person_.

Even tries to swallow a laugh but ends up coughing instead.

“What is it?” Sonja asks, a line appearing between her brows. “Care to let me in on the joke?”

“It’s nothing,” Even shakes his head and blinks away the tears of laughter brimming in the corners of his eyes.

Sonja gives him a pointed look, putting down her coffee cup.

Even wipes out his nose with the back of his hand. “I just…realized you’re a person, I guess.”

“Thank you,” Sonja says cheerfully, her voice thick with sarcasm. “After ten years together, it’s wonderful to hear you realize I am in fact not an alien.”

Even gives her an apologetic smile. “It’s hard to explain.”

Sonja looks amused. “We’re way past the point of trying to explain ourselves to each other,” she says. Her voice is kind, like she’s just stating a fact she’s come to terms with a long time ago.

Even’s gaze travels from the expensive-looking watch on Sonja’s wrist to the Hermes bag she’s placed on the chair next to her.

“You seem to be doing great in New York,” he says.

Sonja lets out a faint laugh. “Working my way up the ladder.”

“Watch the wind on the top floor. Wouldn’t want to ruin your hair style.”

“Ha ha ha,” Sonja says. ”How’s Mikael?”

”The usual.  It’s all about short and cropped this year, apparently.”

“What about you? And don’t give me any of the usual bullshit.”

“I’m fine,” Even says and takes a sip of his tea. “I changed the laundry detergent.”

“Radical.”

“Also I’m thinking of quitting my job.”

Sonja’s eyes narrow. “But you love your job.”

“I don’t love my job, Sonja,” Even says and lets out a puff of air. “I’m only there because of you.”

“Have you been eating? Sleeping? Are you sure it’s not the beginning of another episode?”

“Are mentally ill people not allowed to hate their fucking jobs?” Even snarls. “I’m _fine_ , Sonja. I just want some things to change. Just like you did when you moved to New York.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that you—,” Sonja’s voice falters as she searches for the words. “I just meant to make sure you’ve really thought this out. Do you have a plan?”

Even can’t help a faint smile creeping onto his lips. Beautiful Sonja, always ready with a plan. Zombies could roam the earth and still everything would be alright because Sonja would have a plan.

“I don’t know,” Even says. “I went to Snorre’s funeral, and all I could think was how my first funeral was nearly my own.” He lets out a snort. “I can’t seem to do anything right. I even failed at dying.”

Sonja’s fingers brush Even’s knuckles, a faint lingering from another life. The sensation is both familiar and strange at once.

“But I want to get better,” Even says, raising his chin. “I want to learn to live without you.”

“You’re already living without me and doing just fine.”

Even shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says. “You’re fucking everywhere. My degree, my job, that fucking _briefcase_ … None of that is me, Sonja.”

“I never meant to force it upon you,” Sonja says. Color drains out of her face and her shoulders slump, and for the first time ever she appears small, almost child-like in Even’s eyes. “It was never my intention. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t blame you,” Even says quietly. “I let you live my life for me on my own free will. But I don’t want to waste my time anymore.”

“You could probably cover at least a month’s rent if you sold the briefcase,” Sonja says with a chuckle.

Her eyes are bright, and suddenly like a gust of wind it dawns upon Even that is the last time.

This is not a chance to catch up.

It’s a chance to say goodbye.

“I need to take a piss, give me a moment,” Even says and gets up.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sonja open her handbag.

When he gets back, Sonja’s chair is empty. On the table there is a brief note written on the back of the receipt.

 _Sorry for leaving, I didn’t want to ruin my makeup. Every day I’m glad you’re alive_. _Good luck_. – Sonja.


	9. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the final chapter of this story that i made up. i've also made a playlist for this fic which can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/raimoraimoraimo7/playlist/5rT4BUodfai3TJ01glRbTF?si=LQ-y9OITQ4ib2LL8JKKPyA). see end notes for, well, the end note.

The tram seat is still warm from the previous passenger. Even exhales, then presses his thumb to his pulse point: still beating.

So he’s unemployed now — Or will be, after his summer vacation and a month and a half of teleworking, which is the agreement he’d reached with his boss.

Months, years, spent feeling like a guest in his own life, yet now that there is no backtracking on his decision, he feels oddly normal; neither over the moon with exhilaration nor paralyzed with fear. It’s almost lackluster, like part of him had been expecting a more dramatic ending, waiting for some sign from the universe: a thunderbolt flashing above the city, a white dove landing on his shoulder, a fucking cloud in the sky spelling out _Even Bech Næsheim made the right choice._ Yet—nothing. The universe remains unconcerned, leaving Even no other guideline but the feeling in his gut.

And there went his stop. _Shit_.

Just as Even is about to get up so he can get off at the next stop, the tram jerks as it approaches a red light, sending him tumbling back into his seat. And what is he doing really? Hurrying home so he can do what exactly? Sit on the sofa and over-think? Open the fridge only to find nothing in it?

Tapping his foot, Even glances around. There’s an old lady knitting across the aisle. Her face is obscured by sunlight, but the movement of her hands is nimble and quick. A seagull crosses the street, skittering towards a group of mothers on a bench breastfeeding their children; children so young that summer air is the only air they’re ever breathed.

This is the city that took him in when he was at his lowest and nursed him back to life; The city that gave him Mikael, and Sonja, and everyone they brought along. This is the city that gave him a purpose, even if that purpose was only a momentary relief.

Whether he would have chosen this city on his own, he’ll never know. London, Copenhagen and Amsterdam all sound like life made of only Saturdays when you’re a 15-year-old queer kid living in the taiga.

Maybe he would’ve ended up here anyway. There’s no way to tell.

If what they say is right and time is a flow, then maybe you just sort of end up where you are. Like when a leaf falls into a stream and is washed ashore.

The tram jerks forward. Even smiles.

It’s a loop line.

He’ll end up back at his stop soon enough.

*

The stars are getting brighter; summer is about to end.

Not more than five minutes after leaving Mikael’s, Even’s phone rings. Shaking his head, Even picks up the call.

“What did I forget this time?” he asks, already turning on his heels ready to head back. It’s probably the 100th time this happens.

“Did I call at a bad time?” voice on the phone says, and blood begins to rush in Even’s ears as he realizes the voice is not Mikael telling him to drag his ass back there to pick up his wallet and keys.

“Not at all,” Even hurries to reply. “I was just…walking,” he says, now evidently pacing on the sidewalk.

Isak’s amused laughter on the other side of the line is like music and a punch in the gut all at once: Even hadn’t realized just how much he had missed hearing it until it is there again, reverberating right in his ear. Or maybe he had realized it but refused the thought.

“Sounds nice,” Isak says. “I don’t think you left anything here, by the way.”

“Did you check under the bed? I always manage to forget something there,” Even says, affecting casualness as though not on the verge of shitting himself.

“Just a whip and a pair of handcuffs. Ring any bells?”

“Fuck off.”

Isak snickers but doesn’t reply. His breathing rustles over the phone.

To keep the conversation going, Even opens his mouth and says, “We went with Constant Comfort for the diaper tag line.”

“Not with ‘shit happens but not in your pants’?”

“The customer wanted something classy and clean.”

“Not what I’d associate with shitting myself.”

“That’s because they don’t want to sell you an image of shitting yourself.”

“You want me to smell the roses while I shit myself?”

Even laughs. “It’s none of my concern now. I don’t work there anymore.”

“You quit?”

“I took your advice.”

“Didn’t realize I gave you any.”

Even feels a smile tugging at his lips.

After a few moments of silence Isak picks up the conversation again.

“I’m harvesting honey this weekend,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Cool—," Even says, but Isak bluntly cuts him off.

“Do you want to come?”

Even feels like he’s a geyser about to erupt. He inhales, then presses his thumb to his pulse point: still beating.

“Are you alone?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you—” _get back together_ he wants to ask.

“We didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“I took your advice.”

“Didn’t realize I gave you any.”

Isak lets out a soft giggle. “Try to remember.”

He sounds like he’s smiling. Even closes his eyes: he can’t see Isak’s face, but he can still picture—no, _remember_ it.

“Is it cloudy over there?” Isak asks when Even doesn’t respond.

“It’s pretty clear,” Even says.

“Look up,” Isak says. “Do you see it?”

“See what?”

“The Summer Triangle.”

“How do I find it?”

“By using your eyes,” Isak retorts, but then his voice turns gentle as he says, “See that bright star in the upper right corner? Seeing it now? Okay, good. That’s Vega. It makes up one third of the triangle. Start from there.”

The night sky is so vast and so high that staring at it for too long feels like his body is beginning to collapse into itself, all air escaping from his lungs into the dark infinity of the universe. Yet he is not afraid with Isak’s voice whispering in his ear, Even realizes.

“Is that it?” he asks, pointing at the sky as though Isak could see him. “I think I found it.”

“Well done. Are you looking at it now?”

“Yeah,” Even breathes. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m looking at it with you,” Isak says simply.

It’s minutes later when Even realizes he’s left Isak hanging, never answering his question.

“Isak?” he asks tentatively.

“Mh.”

“I’ll be there.”

There’s a rustling noise like the phone’s being picked up from the ground before Isak’s voice says, “It kinda feels like you already are.”

The stars are getting brighter; fall is about to begin.

*

The air smells of harvest.

Even hastens his step as he spots Isak leaning against his car outside the railway station, feeling his heartbeat starting to race. Their eyes meet, and Isak’s face melts into a smile.

“Hi,” Isak says, nodding at him in greeting before opening the backdoor of his car.

“Hey,” Even says as Isak takes his bag and throws it onto the back seat. Unsure if they should hug or shake hands or exchange fucking high fives, Even shoves his hands into his pockets, shuffling his feet.

“You didn’t bring your suit this time,” Isak says with a grin, which makes Even relax a bit. He knows the steps to this dance.

“I’ve since retired from duty,” he counters.

Isak laughs, drumming his fingers on the roof of his car. “Thank you for your service. Aren’t you getting in?”

“Aren’t you?”

Isak wiggles his brows. “I am if you are.”

*

“Help yourself,” Isak says, using his right hand to grab a bag of chips from the backseat. “This could become a long drive.”

Even furrows his brow. “It could?”

“Depends on where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?”

“Depends on where you wanna go.”

Even huffs out a laugh. “Me?”

“You grew up here, right? Must be somewhere you want to go.”

“I don’t know,” Even says, sucking in a breath. Isak smiles at him through the rear-view mirror, that smile he seems to have reserved for situations where he knows something that Even doesn’t, and—fuck it, here goes nothing. “Okay, turn left the next chance you get. And don’t complain once we get there.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

*

Wind rustles in the pines.

Isak slams shut the car door, then takes a few steps on the gravel and halts, craning his neck so that his curls sway across his face.

“That’s a pretty big rock,” he says, gently running his hand across the surface of the glacial erratic.

“Come on,” Even says, bracing his foot against the rock and pulling himself on top of it. Then he holds out his hand for Isak, feeling an electric shock somewhere in his spine when Isak clasps it, their fingers digging into each other’s knuckles.

“I could’ve done that myself,” Isak says after Even’s pulled him up with him.

“I said no complaining.”

“Wasn’t complaining,” Isak says with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “I just think I’m stronger than you.”

“Whatever you say, Schwartzenegger,” Even retorts.

Isak laughs, stretching his arms over his head. There’s a pine needle entangled in his hair. Even can’t help staring at it in wonder until Isak tilts his head and smiles at him. Caught off guard, Even averts his gaze, then spots a familiar sight below his feet. He squats down and traces the shapes in the rock with his finger.

“E + E?” Isak’s voice startles him.

“Even plus Erik,” Even says with a chuckle.

“I know who Even is, but who’s Erik?” Isak asks, sitting down next to him on the rock.

“It’s a boring story.”

“I don’t think so.”

Even huffs a laugh, poking Isak’s shoulder. “You don’t even know the story.”

“I know you’re not a boring person.”

Even dips his chin in a sudden wave of embarrassment, twirling a pine needle between his thumb and index finger. “Shut up.”

Isak makes the sign of zipping up his mouth and throwing away the key. It makes Even want to kiss him.

“Erik was my first love. I think.”

The corners of Isak’s eyes crinkle. “You think.”

“I mean I had a girlfriend for like two weeks when I was fifteen because she gave me a blow job and let me touch her boob when we were drinking by this pond near your house.”

“But you didn’t carve her name onto a glacial erratic.”

“No. Just Erik’s.”

The pine needle Even’s been scraping across the letters snaps, and he barks out a laugh.

“This was before I was diagnosed with bipolar, so we didn’t know I was manic. Mom suspected I was doing drugs. I stole the chisel from school, then biked all the way here.”

The memory is fragmented, but what Even can still remember is the desperation of wanting to make the feeling last forever, of wanting to leave a permanent mark.

“Told you you’re not a boring person,” Isak says. “Boring people would’ve just gotten a tattoo.”

Even hums.

“Oh but I did get a tattoo. On both of my ass cheeks.” He tries to stop the grin threatening to appear on his face when Isak’s eyes widen in surprise but fails, breaking into triumphant giggles. “You believed me there for a second!”

“Get in the car,” Isak says, patting Even on the head before hopping off the rock.

*

King Magnus II’s shape flashes behind the curtain.

Most of the flowers have wilted, but the grass is still green.

“Do you drink milk?” Isak asks, unlocking the front door. “I drank the last bit of soda this morning, and my ex took the tea bags.”

“Milk’s fine,” Even says, dropping his bag onto a chair in the hallway.

“I’ll pour you a glass. Can you go and get the condoms from the shed? Or would you rather rest? A nap?”

“I’ll get the condoms,” Even says.

Watching Isak with his bees is better than any rest a bed can give, anyway.

*

The bees buzz like wind in the trees.

Even watches as Isak pulls out a frame full of wax and uses a wooden brush to gently brush the bees away.

“This is a good one,” Isak says. “The bees have filled it with honey on both sides of the frame, see? That’s when it’s ready for us to take.”

“So we won’t be taking all the frames?”

“No, just the ones that are ready. This one isn’t ready, see?” Isak says, pulling out a frame dripping with honey. “And we can only take the excess. If we take everything, the hive won’t survive through winter.”

“You can’t get greedy, then.”

“You really can’t.”

Even watches the hive in silence for a while, then says, “Do you ever find yourself envying the bees?”

“Not really,” Isak says. “Or I don’t know, maybe when I get a diarrhea during a staff meeting.”

“You don’t envy their sense of purpose?”

Isak tilts his head, pressing his lips together. “You have the same purpose.”

“To pollinate?”

“To survive,” Isak says, putting back another frame still not ready to be taken.

“Sometimes I’m scared,” Even says. “That I’ve done some irreversible mistake, or that I’m running out of time.”

“You know what I really like about keeping bees?” Isak asks, then squeezes the smoker’s bellows and directs a puff of smoke inside the hive. “I like how cyclical it is.”

“Each year you perform the same tasks during the same seasons, yet each year you perform them a little bit differently, because no two summers or two springs are ever exactly the same. Spring comes, then summer, then fall, then winter, then spring again.”

Isak covers the hive with a lid and turns to Even. “I like beekeeping because it keeps reminding me that life’s not linear.”

Even’s breath hitches.

 _Life’s not linear_.

Life’s not linear: it’s a cycle.

There is no finish line, no final prize to be collected.

The pain doesn’t end.

The joy doesn’t end.

They only grow bigger, and smaller, bigger, and smaller.

Even bursts into laughter. He removes his veil and sucks in a deep breath. The wind tugs at his beekeeping suit, making it flap like a sail around his thighs.

The wind only is.

Everything only is.

“You have a pine needle in your hair,” Even says.

“Take it off,” Isak demands, whipping his hair back and forth.

Even reaches his hand to gently swipe off the needle.

“Thanks,” Isak says, stepping closer.

They smile at each other. Isak’s expression is open and relaxed, and staring at the curve of his upper lip Even realizes he trusts him completely.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Isak says.

And then he does.

Kissing Isak is like walking into a save point.

Even cups Isak’s head in his hands and kisses him deeper, their beekeeping suits rustling as their legs tangle together. Isak laughs into Even’s mouth and pushes him backwards until they’re rolling in the grass, then places his hands onto Even’s shoulders to prop himself up on top of him, hair falling over his face as he peers at Even.

“I really want to touch you,” he says.

“Then you should,” Even says, staring in awe as Isak pulls down the zipper of his beekeeping suit and slips a hand into his boxers, every cell in Even’s body buzzing with anticipation and his breath catching in his throat until Isak’s fingers wrap around his cock and begin to stroke it.

“Fuck,” he exhales.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Even lets out a muffled groan, burying his face in the crook of Isak’s neck, breathing in his scent.

Even can feel Isak rutting against his thigh as Isak begins to stroke faster, and the buzzing under his skin grows louder and louder, like his entire body is coming apart and undone, and then he is coming, and coming, laughing into Isak’s neck, biting it, sucking it, and now Isak’s mouth is on his, and it is late August and he’s alive.

*

They stay like that for a while, in the grass, chests heaving in the afterglow.

“Remember that first night? When I asked you if you’d ever lost someone suddenly?”

Isak hums a response.

“And you returned the question. Like you knew I wasn’t talking about my classmate.”

“I didn’t know. I just had a hunch.”

Even blows out a puff of air. “After I got sick, I felt like I’d lost myself,” he says. “Like I lost the person I could’ve been.”

Night clouds have started to gather.

“But when I’m with you I feel like what’s lost can be regained.”

Isak turns to look at him then.

“You could stay here for a while.”

“You’d want that?”

“I want you around. I want to get to know you.”

Even smiles. “I want to get to know you, too,” he says, then out of the corner of his eye notices King Magnus II staring at them from the shade of a redcurrant bush.

“Does the cat know how to open doors?” he asks.

“King Magnus II?” Isak huffs a laugh. “Unlikely.”

“He was in my room that first morning I stayed over.”

Isak rolls over onto his stomach, slinging an arm around Even’s chest. “That’s because I let him in.”

“Oh.”

“I felt like you could use some company, so I didn’t want to let you sleep alone. You looked kind of lonely.”

“And how do I look now?” Even says, half a joke, half a question.

Isak’s eyes flicker, and then he cups Even’s face and kisses him on the mouth.

“You’re beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's done! i don't even know what to say other than thank you thank you and thank you. this is the most personal story i've ever written, so every single comment and kudos and reblog and fic rec has meant more to me than you could ever imagine. i really loved sharing this fic with you all. i don't know when my next chaptered work will be or in which fandom, but in the meantime you can find me on tumblr [@isaksbestpillow](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/). have a lovely december, and good luck on flowing through time!


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